


Dedication

by caprigender



Series: The adventures of Mica Lynne, Sole Survivor of Vault 111 and esteemed mayor of Trashtown Micatropolis [6]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Anxiety, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, genderqueer sole survivor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 00:37:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6306886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caprigender/pseuds/caprigender
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anxiety and depression is hard enough to deal with when you aren't living in a disaster zone. Sometimes you have to lean on someone for support. Sometimes you worry you lean too hard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dedication

The buzzing was back, low and insistent hissing up and down her spinal column like a television without a signal. The static blizzard drowned out everything and all she wanted to do was curl up and stay exactly where she was until the walls crumbled down around her or until she tore off her too tight skin and dissolved in a puddle of black tar, soaking into the bare mattress.

That wouldn’t happen. The soft, logical part of her mind ran through the flesh and blood make up of her body. Nothing there that smelled like asphalt on a hot summer day and dripped slowly like molasses out of any cuts she couldn’t bring herself to make. She told the logical part of her mind to fuck right off please and thank you, she wasn’t interested in the facts.

The facts were twisted and turned. The facts were upside down. The facts of this life didn’t make any fucking sense and she refused to deal with them.

The facts were that she was now about two hundred and thirty five years old, give or take a few decades, and for the past few months she’d been living in a fucking warzone. The facts were that she’d lost everyone she’d ever known in what had felt like moments. The facts were that she knew she couldn’t keep faking competence forever. She was woefully unprepared to be the protagonist of whatever post-apocalyptic movie set she’d wandered onto and sooner or later she would be paying for it. People were counting on her and eventually she would let them all down.

Compartmentalize.

She took a shaky breath and pushed down the gut wrenching terror. That was a worry for a different day.

The facts were that Preston was waiting for her to get up. There was a place for a settlement somewhere further north that they needed to clear out and clean up. The facts were that Preston was counting on her, put his faith in her for some reason, and trusted her to be strong for him. She didn’t know if she had any of that strength but she could pretend she did. She could pretend really well when she put her mind to it.

Externalize.

She craved approval more than food and water. It was a simple routine she had found for herself as a teenager. Choose that one person you admire above anyone else and shine until you blind them. When they smile your world has never been more perfect, you finally mean something in this piece of shit existence that you lead. When they disagree you close off, get defensive and bitter. You hate yourself for lashing out. You don’t know how to apologize. You get back out there and work twice as hard to win back that smile and suddenly the world is bright a beautiful and so perfect you want to cry. The vicious cycle begins again.

Rationalize.

It’s not healthy. She knows it’s not healthy. She had been healing the damage though. Before the world had turned to fire and dust and she’d been locked up to freeze to death (not to death, freeze to life?) she’d been working through it but years of therapy were thrown out the window in favor of survival. Because the fact of the matter was that Preston Garvey needed her and he needed her alive. And as long as he needed her alive she could do this. She could choke down all her medications and sprint across the wastelands through mud and thorns and rain. She could learn how to use a gun on animals and monsters and, hell, even other human beings if it meant he would smile and tell her good job. She could make decisions of life and death and even hold herself together as people rushed to carry out orders. Her orders. She could fake her way through a war, as long as she was helping people and as long as he smiled at her every so often with that same sad, weary smile.

The fire still burned in her spine, loud enough that she wanted to scream. But he was waiting for her to wake up. He was waiting for her to come and get him, to start today’s mission.

So while she wanted to curl up and die, wanted to waste away alone and stop existing entirely, she sat up. She choked down an actual meal, swallowing down her pills and a bottle of nuka cola besides. She took care of herself because that’s what he would want her to do. Because if she didn’t his soft brown eyes would look at her in worry and he would ask her if she was doing alright and she would have to hurt him or lie. She couldn’t do that.

So while she might not think she deserved the care she was showing herself, she treated herself gently. Because no matter how tempting it was to destroy herself, she knew it would end up hurting him too. And imagining the disappointed look on his face hurt worse than anything she could do to herself.


End file.
